I'll Be Your Crying Shoulder
by ThatBrownEyedIrishGirl
Summary: A quiet night at home is disturbed by a visitor Molly never expected. Sherlock/Molly.


**I'll Be Your Crying Shoulder**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing.**

**Summary: A quiet night at home is disturbed by a visitor Molly never expected. Sherlock/Molly.**

**Song listened to: I'll Be - Edwin McCain (from Molly's POV)**

**Sherlock's probably very OOC, and for that, I apologise.**

* * *

The television was the only sound coming from inside the apartment. Some American talk show host prattled on absentmindedly in the background as Molly Hooper ran a hand over her face tiredly.

It was just past two in the morning, and normally, Molly would be appalled at herself for staying awake so late when she had work the next morning. But ... she had been to visit John, and those meetings always ended up with her getting no sleep that night, wracked with guilt and sadness for the man.

Sitting across from him in the little cafe, it was clear he had not been taking apt care for himself. In the month since _the funeral, _John had lost a considerable amount of weight, and gained some exhausted lines in his soft face. His polite smiles never quite reached his eyes anymore, granted he smiled at all. John wasn't sleeping, and he wasn't eating, simply because he didn't have the energy to anymore. The light was gone from his gentle eyes, the burden of his best friend's death becoming too much to handle.

That was one of the reasons Molly made sure to keep in contact with him. She had been entrusted with his welfare. That had been one of the things _he _had made her promise to do - take care of John. She had been shocked that he had chosen her to watch over his best friend when he no longer could, though it did make her feel all fuzzy inside. He wasn't kidding about trusting her.

Molly sighed when she no longer felt the warmth coming from her once steaming mug of tea. Setting it down on the coffee table, she patted Toby's head and made her way into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Trudging by the front door of her apartment, she was startled when she heard a knock from outside. Frowning, she cast another glance at the clock that rested on the mantlepiece and approached the door cautiously, wondering who on Earth would be calling by at this hour of the night. John flashed across her mind, making her quicken her pace. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, ready to greet the man and make sure he was okay.

But John wasn't at the door. The man who stood at the door was much taller, 6 foot even, with dark curly hair and tired blue eyes. There was a faint whiff of alcohol coming from him, but she pushed it aside, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Her heart simultaneously sped up and dropped into her stomach. The breath was knocked out of her at the sight of him, and tears welled up in her eyes. It had been a whole month of wondering - fretting over - whether or not he was okay, or even alive. She had helped him fake his own death, and then had him flake out on her entirely and completely disappear. Molly had known disappearing would be part of his plan, of course, but she had at least expected him to call once in a while.

"Molly, hi." He greeted in that deep, velvety voice that made her toes curl. _Most _of the time.

"Are you serious?" She asked in a soft voice, folding her arms,"_Hi_?"

Sherlock frowned,"Isn't that what most people say in greeting?"

"Sure," Molly nodded,"But not when they fake their own death and then drop of the face of the Earth!"

Sherlock pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes in that calculating manner that Molly knew well.

"You're angry."

She gave him a withering look,"What was your first clue?"

Sherlock's face changed then, taking in her defensive stance. Arms folded protectively over herself, her body tense and still remaining by the door, making no move to get closer to him. She was blocking herself off from him, something he wasn't used to from her.

"You're upset with me." Sherlock nodded, and Molly watched his entire body language change. He wasn't the only one able to read people.

His shoulders slumped in defeat underneath his dark, favourite jacket, his head bowing, and his eyes blinking rapidly as he refused to make anymore eye contact with her. She saw a twitching in his lower lip, letting her know that he was biting the inside of it, and the creasing in his chin made her frown deeper. It was trembling.

"Right. Well, I-I'm sorry for waking you." He said, his voice cracking,"I should leave."

Molly glanced behind herself into her apartment. All of the lamps were on, as was the telly. Sherlock would have definitely known he hadn't woken her at all. She found her anger dissipating as he turned to leave and dropped her arms, stepping out into the hall and grabbing his wrist, tugging him back to face her.

She searched his face,"Have you been drinking?"

"A little bit." He admitted.

Molly sighed,"You're upset too. Don't tell me you aren't, just... just don't." She nodded her head towards her apartment,"Come on, then."

She led Sherlock inside, and closed the door behind herself, motioning for him to take a seat on the sofa as she made her way into the kitchen. She made him some coffee - black, two sugars - and got herself another cup of tea before making her way back into the sitting room and taking a seat beside him.

He took the coffee from her, mumbling a thanks but making no move to drink from it. Molly's heart broke as she looked at him. He looked as bad as John did, if not worse.

John sprung back to mind then and she tilted her head to catch his eyes,"Have you been to see him?"

"No. Not exactly."

"You've seen him, then?" She deduced, earning a nod,"But he hasn't seen you?"

"I found him at the pub." Sherlock replied softly, letting out a sad chuckle,"He was so drunk that he didn't know it was me."

Molly tapped her fingers against the edge of her mug,"And what happened?"

"Nothing of importance." Sherlock waved her off.

She narrowed her eyes,"You don't get in contact for a month after I helping you fake your own death, then you show up at my front door, drunk and sad. _Everything _is of importance."

Sherlock smiled at her; that charming and disarming smile that they both knew led to him getting his own way.

"You've gotten... bolder. Braver. It's a good look."

"Don't even try it." Molly shook her head,"The flattery, the smile - it doesn't work anymore."

"That's not true." Sherlock squinted at her, and Molly made it a point to remain motionless, reminding herself to breath regularly and keep eye contact. Her face did flush just a little bit, but it was dark enough that he didn't notice, judging by how he sat back and really looked at her before sighing.

"I take it you hate me now too, so?"

Molly looked stunned,"What? I never said that!"

"You didn't have to. Everyone seems to hate me nowadays - not that they were particularly delighted by my presence before."

"Sherlock, I don't hate you. I could never hate you. Where is this coming from?"

Sherlock stared into his mug, again making no move to drink from it. He stood up, obviously growing restless from the unwanted attention. She was making him talk, and he _wanted _to, something he wasn't used to. He approached the window and pushed the net curtain back a bit so he could peer out at the empty street below him.

"He hates me..."

He could almost see Molly frown again from where she sat behind him. Molly shook her head again, her eyes softening,"He doesn't hate you."

"John doesn't say things he doesn't mean." Sherlock said stoically.

Molly gaped,"He was drunk -"

"Drunk words are sober thoughts - isn't that what they say?"

Molly stood up too,"Well, he doesn't really mean it. He thinks you're dead, and - and anger is apart of the grieving process."

"I made him angry. You have seen him. He's a shell of who he was, Molly, and _I _did that to him."

"You protected him."

"And I killed him. Inside, that is." Sherlock let out a shaky breath,"It's my fault."

Molly wasn't sure what to say. She was good with comforting people, but Sherlock wasn't like other people, and his words weren't entirely false. Molly closed her eyes and swallowed before answering, projecting her own feelings onto John, but knowing they still applied.

"He doesn't hate _you_, Sherlock. He hates the situation. He hates how things happened, and he hates this stupid world for being so bloody cruel!"

Sherlock paused and then turned, surprising Molly. Tears were falling from his eyes, and Molly felt her heart plummet again, tears welling up in her own eyes. It was probably just the alcohol having an effect on him, because Sherlock Holmes didn't cry, especially not around her, but here he was, in tears and looking close to breaking point.

Molly's mouth fell open and in a second, she was standing in front of him and wrapping her arms around his neck, and hugging him to her tightly. His arms loosened and then slid around her waist, burying his face in her hair.

"John doesn't hate you." She whispered again,"He could never hate you."

Sherlock pulled back from her, and she let her hands slide down to rest on his cheeks, brushing stray tears from his face with her thumbs.

"Do you - ?" He asked softly. Molly nodded.

"I do. I do still love you."

Sherlock's eyes met hers again, and for the third time that night, Molly was surprised.

Because it was quarter to three in the morning, and Sherlock Holmes was kissing her, standing in the middle of her flat after his supposed death.

And for one, precious moment, everything was okay in their worlds again.

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**Yeah, that was totally crappy and OOC. Still, I hope you got some enjoyment out of it. I'm new to the Sherlock fandom, and this is my first Sherlock fanfic.**

**Let me know what you think! And please be gentle :)**

**- Megan**


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